


Crimson Thread

by Zoe13



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:59:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2640701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe13/pseuds/Zoe13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael accidentally cuts his arm instead of his legs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Thread

In...out. In...out. In-out. In-out. In-

No. In...out. In-out, in-out, in-out-

Shaking hands and tightly closed eyes.

_Pull yourself together, Michael!_

He reaches out before quickly retracting his hand. He doesn't trust himself- the blade might cut too sharply tonight and they have a show-

His hands scramble for the blade. He fucked up last time, screwed up some notes like he _always does_ and the boys had asked if something was wrong. Everything was fucking wrong! 

They can't know, can't ever find out what a freak he is.

He feels as if he's been kicked in the chest. The air has rushed out and refused to rush back in. He feels nauseous, and then suddenly there is blood. 

Clarity, sweet clarity. Slowly but surely his breathing evens out. His hands still tremble, but the energy changes from panic to adrenaline. He feels better, safer.

Until he realizes that he'd cut his arm. Deeply. Immediately panic sets back in as he stares at the cuts, willing them to move to his legs or stomach, pain of a whole new sort filling him as a result of pure fear.

"No, no, no, no..." he frantically dabs at the cuts, horrified to find how deep they are. The bleeding won't stop-

 

 

The crowd is wild. Ashton is grinning like a maniac and Calum's cracking stupid jokes. Luke is obviously feeling the high from the crowd, eyes laughing and hands spread out toward the screaming fans.

Michael is still panicking. He doesn't know if the blood has stopped. He's just wrapped his wrist in layers of gauze and put on a baggy sweater, hoping desperately that the cuts were superficial enough to disappear soon. Some sick sense tells him that it won't happen.

He's swaying on his feet, too weak to hold his guitar properly. Luke frowns concernedly at him and Michael swears to himself. 

He misses more notes, fucks up more lines.

He's got tunnel vision by the time that the concert ends. He's nearly staggering off stage, leaning on Luke in what he hopes seems a merely friendly manner. Luke seems to sense how awful he feels and he helps him to the van and then to the hotel room. 

Michael feels barely strong enough to peel off his sweaty clothing and change into dry clothes. It's too hot, and he suddenly realizes that he'll have to get used to it being that way. He's still running on adrenaline, head light and heart racing. He checks his arm, peeling away the hastily slapped on gauze.

It seems that the cuts had stopped bleeding, but the gauze rips off the fragile scabs and the bleeding starts up sluggishly again. 

"Fuck," Michael curses, throwing the gauze into the toilet and sticking his arm in the sink. It's a small bathroom, and he reaches back and flushes the toilet with his clean hand. The burn of the cuts makes him swear again, the sense of relief that usually comes drowned out by the panic of his own stupidity. Somewhere deep down he knows that he'll be found out eventually, but he'll buy as much time as he can.

"Michael, I need to shower. Are you almost done?"

It's Luke. Michael swears inwardly and hurriedly sees his arm before yanking his sleev down. He can bandage it when Luke is in the shower. 

It takes a few more minutes to erase the traces of blood in the sink, and he's holding his arm awkwardly so the blood won't run down his hand. He fumble with the door handle and then finally steps out. 

Lukes in front of him, eyeing him anxiously. "Michael, are you okay? You're really pale."

"Thanks for rubbing it in, beach boy," Michael bites back sarcastically, but Luke takes no note of it.

"Are you getting sick?" Luke feels his forehead and Michael can't help but lean slightly in to the touch, eyes fluttering closed for one moment. 

"No, I think the adrenaline is just taking a while to fade away."

Luke frowns. "It must be your heart rate that's making you look sick."

Horror hits Michael about half of a second before Luke reaches down and takes his left wrist, feeling his pulse.

_Don't look down, it will make him look down..._

Michael sighs. "I should get to bed."

He needs to escape Luke's grasp. It's too much to think about at once, there's too thin a line between Luke and the truth.

"Yeah, get some sleep. I'll shower and then go to bed too." 

Luke lets go and Michael turns away swiftly, eager to be away from Luke's worried gaze.

A choked sound behind him forces him to turn. Luke's face is full of fear as he stares down at his hand. Michael's heart plummets as he sees it. 

Luke's hand is coated in blood. The other boy is shaking and Michael had no idea what to do.

" _Michael_..."

He can't even move as Luke's eyes drag up to him, wide and panicky. 

" _Please_ tell me it was an accident," he says in a shaky voice.

"It was an accident," Michael says tonelessly, and then Luke's crumpling to the floor. 

"No, no, no..."

Michael lowers himself next to Luke, acutely aware of how badly his arm is stinging.

"I'm sorry," Luke's repeats over and over, and Michael realizes that he's crying.

"For what?" 

"Failing you," Luke sobs, and Michael's heart breaks. 

"You didn't- you've never failed me, Luke. Of all of the people in the world, I am the closest with you. Even just you being my friend has helped me. You haven't failed me."

"What's _this_ , then?" Luke cris, holding up his bloody hand. Michael flinches.

"That's _my_ fault, not yours." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Luke says in a sudden whisper, his lips trembling. "How long?"

"Since before we met."

Luke lets out a low cry and holds the back of his hand to his mouth, the tears streaming down his face. Michael can't help but feel helpless seeing his best friend in so much pain. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "You weren't supposedly find out. I don't ever cut my arm."

Luke flinches before turning and throwing his arms around Michael. His shoulders shake and Michael runs his fingers through the younger boy's hair, humming softly.

"Let me see," Luke says after a moment. It's more of an order than a question, but Michael still hesitates. After a moment, Luke reaches down and gently wraps his fingers around Michael's wrist, carefully pulling his arm up and scooting back so he can hold it between them. Michael's shirt is black but he can still see the wet patch on his left wrist. 

Luke's long fingers grasp the hem of Michael's sleeve and then tug the fabric up, careful not to drag it over his wrist. Michael's hears Luke whimper at the sight, but he can't make himself look up. The cuts are pretty deep, and dried and wet blood is smeared around them. 

"Come on," Luke says hoarsely. "Let's clean you up."

Michael follows Luke's lead meekly, staying silent as the other boy runs water over his arm and gently dabs at the cuts with a washcloth.

"I should out peroxide on it," Luke says after a moment, and Michael nods. Cleaning cuts is something he's used to.

Luke winces as he pours hydrogen peroxide on the washcloth as then wipes Michael's arm with it, but Michael doesn't flinch. 

When Michael's arm is dry and bandaged, Luke leads him back to the bedroom and curls up next to him in one of the beds. 

"I love you," he says softly. 

"I love you too," Michael tells him. "I'm sorry."

"We need to talk in the morning."

"Okay," Michael agrees, because he can't deny Luke anything, especially after he's made him cry.

"We have to tell Cal and Ash."

"Okay," Michael says, because they would find out anyway and he suddenly isn't so scared anymore.

A bit of fear edges its way in, though. 

"Are you...disgusted by me?" Michael asks tentatively.

Luke looks up at him with a frown on his face. "What? No! Why would I be?"

"I have all these scars, and now I'm just gonna have more." 

"I just love you all the more," Luke says, and Michael's not quite sure what he means until Luke leans up and kisses him softly, lips trembling against Michael's. Michael's fingers weave into the hair on the back of Luke's head as he kisses back, pushing down his surprise to deal with later. It's different than what he'd imagined but he loves it even more, finding that he never wants to stop. Luke lays a gentle hand on the side of Michael's face before pulling away.

He doesn't move too far, though, leaning his forehead against Michael's and closing his eyes. 

He takes Michael's hand in his and lays it over his chest, covering it with both of his own. Michael can feel his heartbeat beneath his splayed fingers, and it's fast.

"It hurts," Luke says. "Every time you're upset or in pain, it hurts me. But I want you to tell me when you are because knowing you went through anything this painful and didn't tell me is a thousand times worse."

"I'm sorry," Michael whispers.

"No, it's okay. Or it will be. I just want you to tell me." 

"Okay."

"Promise," Luke says, and Michael looks him in the eyes, sees how they're red-rimmed and worried, and promises.

"Promise."

Luke's smile is worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the fear I have that someday someone will somehow get close to me and then find out about my scars and be disgusted. I don't think anyone will get that close, but I really want them to. Minus the whole being disgusted thing.


End file.
